


the ultimate cliché

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Awkwardness, Blind Date, Danny Mahealani/Ethan (background), Doctor Derek Hale, Female Greenberg, First Meetings, Flawless Greenberg, Humor, M/M, Meddling Parents, Minor Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Scott McCall/Allison Argent (background couple), Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes (background couple), Wedding Planner AU, hbic lydia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becoming a wedding planner had never been Stiles' plan, but plans have a way of changing. There isn't a day where Stiles regrets starting his own wedding planner business with Lydia, but there <i>are</i> times when he feels seriously jaded. Seriously. His love life? Is <i>shit</i>. His game is so bad that his <i>dad's</i> setting him up on blind dates! </p><p>But things take a turn for the better when Stiles meets the handsome doctor who has saved his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ultimate cliché

**Author's Note:**

> During the 1st Reel Wolves challenge I signed up for two fics: a [Simply Irresistible AU](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ReelWolves/works/1377286) and this, Wedding Planner AU. To say this is long overdue would be an understatement. I won't really go into all the headaches this fic gave me (cause I overthank it. A LOT!) and dive straight into the people to thank.
> 
> Right off bat there's Rena to thank. Like, I think she was the first person I talked to about this AU and she encouraged me to write it. Then Bubbles and Sab kept kicking my butt to write it and I'm SO sorry for putting you guys through my whining. 
> 
> A _giant_ round of applause for my amazing and incredible beta [Lauren](http://dilfwolf.tumblr.com). She's like, the best beta ever and I wish I could express how grateful I am for all her guidance and help! If I could hug her, I'd hug her for like, 3 years and cry all over her ; __;
> 
> More tags and couples will be added as we go along. Is everyone stapped in? Ready for the ride? LETS GO!

__

_(Sunday, 6th March)_

 

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Stiles remembered being asked this multiple times when he was young. As it happened with kids, his answers tended to change depending on what day of the week it was.  
  


For a whole month he insisted he wanted to grow up to be Spiderman. Most of his ninth year, he walked around the house wearing a fake stethoscope and a white coat, declaring he was going to become the greatest doctor there ever was. After his dad helped stop Kate Argent from burning down the Hale house, Stiles firmly decided he was going to become a cop like his Pops.  
  


‘ _So where’d I go wrong,’_ Stiles mused, hiding his yawn under the guise of taking another sip from his cup.  
  


How’d he go from wanting to be a cop to being a full time _wedding planner_? Okay, sure, he and Lydia were partners in their own business, and being his own boss was amazing. But it was a career pretty damn far from following in his dad’s footsteps. How the hell had that _happened_?  
  


Henry continued regaling Stiles with the story of how he’d gotten his three stitches. Raccoon in a trash can. But the way the balding deputy was going on about it, you’d think the animal was a bunch of pissed off wolverines. What was the proper term for a group of wolverines actually? _Was_ there a term for that? He should look that up later when he had access to high speed internet.  
  


His fingers twitched, wanting to grab his phone and google his question immediately. But his dad had confiscated his phone at the door.  
  


“You,” his dad had sternly told him, stuffing the iPhone into his own back pocket, “are going to go into the backyard and actually talk to people. You’re not going to hide behind your phone or call Lydia to cook up some emergency at work or anything like that. It’s a barbeque. Go be social and try not to piss off a lot of people.”  
  


Stiles’ eyes wandered over to his dad, dropping down to the pocket where he could make out the outline his phone. What were the chances he’d be caught trying to pick his own dad’s pocket? He was still calculating the odds of success when a familiar figure cut off his sight.  
  


Melissa slid up next to his dad, one hand delicately resting against his back as she whispered something. Her simple diamond wedding band sparkled in the pale sunlight, winking at Stiles. _‘That’d be it,’_ he thought, smiling fondly at the exasperated eye roll Melissa gave his dad when she noticed the plate in his hand. Stiles couldn’t hide his snicker when his step-mom took the burger filled plate before walking away.  
  


The first wedding they had planned together had been the Stilinski-McCall wedding. At the time, ‘they’ had meant Stiles, Scott, Lydia, and Allison. Through a series of events no one properly remembered, Scott and Stiles had been left with planning most of the wedding. Sure, their parents were a big part of the process, but the fact of the matter was that they were both really busy people with little time on their hands to organize a wedding on their own. That made the boys jump in and offer their help.  
  


Stiles smiled wryly at the memory. He _remembered_ Scott scoffing at him. “How hard can planning a wedding be?”  
  


Plenty hard, as it turned out. Barely a week in, they’d gone crawling to Lydia for help. The girls had exchanged a knowing look at their pleading before turning to them. The redhead had eyed them pitifully before sighing theatrically and agreeing to help them, recruiting Allison’s help as well.  
  


It was a blessing and a curse that the soon-to-be-wed pair had picked an August date. Blessing because they got to put most of their summer holiday toward putting the event together. A curse because the August humidity was _murder_.  
  


It had been really hard getting everything ready, but they were a force to be reckoned with. Together the small group, with some help from their friends, put together what was heralded as the best wedding the town had ever seen. Stiles had cut that particular newspaper clipping out, framed it and put it up in his office the day they had moved in. In fact, it had been the first item out of the moving box and on the wall. The second had been a larger frame holding a picture of family and friends at the wedding. The married couple and Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison had all crammed into the shot taken right underneath the pale rainbow that had revealed itself over their heads after a lazy drizzle.  
  


Word of their good work had spread after that, several people approaching them with the intent of hiring them for their own weddings. While Allison and Scott chose to focus on their studies, Stiles and Lydia began to juggle school work with their small side business. It had been incredibly difficult, but so satisfying to see all their hard work come to such lovely fruition. Changing his life plans had been the same as well. He still remembered the startled look on his dad’s face when he’d talked about transferring to another college to get a Bachelors in Event Management.  
  


It had been such a hard decision to make, but ultimately worth it. Stiles didn’t regret making that choice.  
  


But there _were_ times he felt..  
  


Well...  
  


_Jaded_.  
  


Sure, he’d arranged and put together some seriously romantic and jaw droppingly pretty weddings. But the divorce rates were really depressing. His heart plummeted every time the couple would pick the cheesiest love song ever for their first dance as husband and wife, his mind already rolling through the statistical analysis Lydia had once done on the link between song choice selection for the first dance and how much time it would take for the couple to divorce.  
  


Worst of all? He was still single. Annoyingly, irritatingly, _depressingly_ single.  
  


Stiles was all too aware of the rumors that followed him at weddings. More than once he’d heard one guest or another whisper, “I bet he leads such a romantic life. His girlfriend must be _so_ lucky.” Stiles had to stop himself from snorting loudly _every time_. What kind of weird assumption was that? That wedding planners lead romantic lives? Seriously, that was just...  
  


He shook his head, trying to shake off the bitter feeling settling in. If it were true that wedding planners had great love lives, then Stiles was doing something _terribly_ wrong.  
  


Before melancholy began to set in, a warm hand dropped on his shoulder. Stiles jumped slightly, relaxing when he realized it was his dad. “Having fun?” his dad asked with a faint smile, nodding at Henry.  
  


Stiles smirked faintly, waiting for Henry to walk away before answering with mock cheer, “So much fun! Deputy Garth was telling me all about that rabid raccoon that bit him last week.”  
  


“Be nice,” his dad chided gently. “It’s not every day someone gets hurt on the job like that.”  
  


Throwing his hands up in mock surrender, Stiles said, “Fine, fine.” Let Henry Garth enjoy his story and the three stitches that went along with it. It was arguably the most exciting thing that had happened in the last month anyways. Not counting the moose that had wandered into the local coffee shop three weeks ago.  
  


He took a long sip of his too sweet punch, idly wondering when Scott and Allison were going to show up when his dad deliberately cleared his throat. Cup still against his lips, Stiles turned with raised eyebrows toward his dad. The older man’s eyes skirted over Stiles when he asked, “Do you remember Heather? You and her used to play together when you were kids.”  
  


Heather...Stiles frowned at the familiar name. “Heather Collins?” he hazarded a guess. “Mom used to be friends with her mom?” A vague memory of playing with a blonde haired girl in a room filled with various stuffed animals came to mind. Stiles remembered her toothy grin and flyaway hair. Not to mention her habit of punching him in the arm whenever he’d disagreed to play Princesses & Dragons with her. He couldn’t help but grimace at _that_.  
  


His dad nodded, an excited gleam in his eyes. Stiles paused to eye his dad. He knew that look. His dad was up to something nefarious.  
  


“What about her?” he asked warily.  
  


For some reason, his cautious query made his dad beam. Like Stiles had announced he’d won the lottery. What was his old man planning?  
  


“Well, I invited them to the barbeque today.”  
  


“What?” Stiles asked. He frowned, his gaze sweeping over the group quickly before continuing to ask, “Didn’t they move away to Oklahoma or something?”  
  


“Washington, actually,” his dad corrected him. “But they came back a few weeks ago and I mentioned you to Heather, and she said she wanted to meet you and catch up.”  
  


Oh no. Stiles felt his heart plummet down into his shoes. This was bad. This was very, very bad. “Tell me you didn’t--” Stiles began to plead.  
  


But his dad talked over him, “Give her a chance, Stiles!”  
  


Yep. That was exactly what Stiles was afraid of.  
  


He groaned, lightly smacking his free hand against his face, the force of it causing the punch to slosh inside his cup. “ _Dad_! Did you seriously set me up for a blind date with the girl who used to hit me in the head with her stuffed bear when I told her I didn’t want to play Tea Parties with her?”  
  


He really didn't get why his dad kept trying to hook him up with people. It wasn’t like Stiles wasn’t capable of asking people out on his own, because he’d done that. Okay, so the results ranged from mildly to completely disastrous, but the point was he could do this on his own. He didn’t need his dad finding dates for him. Stiles was a grown ass man!  
  


With a heavy eye roll, the Sheriff began to lead Stiles away from the nearest exit and deeper into the crowd of people. Stiles longingly stared at the receding door before grumbling, “I’m telling Melissa about how you’re trying to set me up with someone without my prior consent. And _then_ I’m gonna tell her to cut fries out of your meals for the next three months!” Surely Melissa would take his side on this.  
  


Sadly, the threat fell short.  
  


“It’s not a blind date,” the Sheriff corrected him almost immediately. “I just invited the Collins over for the barbecue, and they wanted to see how you were doing. Just because they _happen_ to have a daughter your age--who you used to like by the way--is just a coincidence.”  
  


Stiles rolled his eyes so hard he was certain he’d strained an optic nerve. “I see right through you. I hope you’re aware of this.”  
  


That was the last thing he got out before he heard someone call out, “Stiles? Is that you?” He turned in the direction of the voice, blinking at the unfamiliar voice before a warm body crashed into him. Down went his red cup, last gulps of punch and all as his hands attempted to steady the decidedly feminine body that had crashed into him. A few strands of blonde hair fell into his parted lips, causing him to splutter and gently attempt to push the girl away from him.  
  


Once they were a  few inches apart, Stiles stared at the blonde. She was several inches shorter than him. Very pretty and with a very familiar pair of blue eyes. He oggled the girl, asking in a high voice, “Heather?”  
  


The girl in his arms was a far cry from the tiny girl of his memories. Stiles couldn’t help but stare at her, noting with a tiny bit of pleasure how she was staring back at him. The way her eyes lingered on his shoulders. As her fingers slid down his shoulders and onto his chest, her cheeks flushing pink, Stiles puffed his chest out slightly and stood taller. It was always nice to get some reassurance that he was good looking enough to catch a pretty girl’s (or boy’s) eye. And if that made him shallow, then Stiles was a two inch deep puddle.  
  


“We’ll just leave you kids alone then,” the Sheriff said, clearly having given up on discretion altogether as he winked at Heather’s parents before taking off with them.  
  


Stiles blinked at his dad’s retreating back before wondering out loud, “Did that just happen?”  
  


Heather giggled quietly in response.  
  


__  
  


( _Monday, 7th March_ )  
  


   
  


“Did you know?” Stiles demanded the second he walked into Lydia’s office, slapping his hands down on her desk.  
  


Lydia peered at him over her laptop screen, frown quickly melting into a mischievous smirk. “You got ambushed,” she declared smugly.  
  


Pointing a finger at the woman, Stiles asked once again, “You totally knew what my dad was up to, didn’t you? That he was gonna try and set me up with someone? _Again_?” While Stiles was his father’s son and fairly good at solving mysteries, his father continued to outwit him. No matter how hard he tried to pinpoint any tells his father had, Stiles continued to find himself cornered in situations he didn’t want to be in.  
  


But there was one thing he knew for certain about his dad--he was a bit of a brag hound. So he _had_ to have told someone about his plans. And Lydia, being the gossip queen she was, _must_ have known.  
  


“Mrs. Reyes told me,” Lydia said simply.  
  


Stiles waited for an explanation, impatiently waving his hands at her to continue. How the hell was _that_ supposed to satisfy his curiosity? Lydia’s habit of teasing him like this was going to come back and bite her in the ass one of these days. Maybe even today if she didn’t spill soon.  
  


Lydia made him sweat, however. Typical. She took her sweet time to finish typing whatever it was she was working on before explaining, prim and proper, “Mrs. Reyes came in last week with her daughter to finalize the flower choice--sunflowers, by the way--and she asked about you. She wanted to warn you that she’d overheard your dad talking with some lady about you meeting her daughter.”  
  


Stiles stared incredulously at his second best friend in the world before asking, “And you didn’t think to tell me this? Where the hell was I?”  
  


“On scene at the Morgan wedding, remember?” Oh right. That had been a great wedding, actually.  Lydia’s smirk was small and sharp when she continued, “And I thought this would be good revenge for that prank you pulled on me.”  
  


Throwing himself into the empty seat behind him, Stiles moaned. “For the last time, Lydia! It wasn’t a prank! I actually forgot to give you that note. How does _that_ equal to the horror that is being set up on a public blind date by my scheming dad?”  
  


“You forgot to tell me a very important detail for my client’s wedding which resulted in me looking bad in front of them,” Lydia reminded him. “One public humiliation for another.”  
  


Stiles shot her a dark look before muttering, under his breath, “Forgetting to tell someone about changing the color of napkins isn’t exactly a public humiliation, just FYI.”  
  


“What was that?” she asked, eyes flashing at Stiles.  
  


Immediately sitting up, face radiating innocence, Stiles said, “Just wondering how the Reyes-Boyd wedding is coming along.”  
  


The couple had come to them three months ago through Scott’s reference. They were young, sure, but Stiles was confident they were gonna go the distance together. He couldn’t put his finger on why however. It was just a feeling. Greenberg called it his ‘wedding planner’ sense. He had the uncanny ability to meet a couple and determine if they were going to celebrate their twentieth anniversary or wind up divorcing before the second anniversary rolled around.  
  


“Good.” Lydia seamlessly shifted into business mode, pulling a file out of the pile on her left before flipping it open. “Everything’s going according to schedule. I’m setting up an appointment with Kira next week for the cake testing. Then we need to start thinking about the dresses and suits.”  
  


Stiles happily dove into the planning, working hard as the day progressed. It was so much easier to focus on all these different couples and wonder how he could help make their special day _better_ than focus on his own wreck of a love life. A good part of his morning, after he was done with Lydia, involved sitting down with Greenberg, his assistant, and hashing out the details for the Carter wedding. Desdemona Greenberg might not work well under pressure and might be prone to sticking her nose where it didn’t belong (like in his love life), but she knew how to do her job. And do it well.  
  


Once he was done with that, Stiles tracked down Kira and asked her to update him on her clients--an act he greatly regretted doing right before lunch. Just hearing about all the cakes had his mouth drooling and stomach twisting with hunger. Add to that the fact he’d only had half a bagel for breakfast, Stiles was _famished_ by the time his lunch break started.  
  


No one talked about it, but talking and planning weddings was pretty strenuous work. And given the day he’d had yesterday, Stiles was going to treat himself to a double dip beef sandwich from the deli fifteen minutes away. He even told Greenberg so in his best Aziz Ansari voice. Greenberg told him to bring back a turkey sandwich with lots of mayo on white bread. Stiles reminded her who the assistant was and who the boss was. Greenberg sweetly reminded Stiles of that one week she’d taken off for a family emergency and Stiles had _begged_ her to come back early. She then waved him out.  
  


The walk over to the deli was uneventful, his meal likewise. He ordered Greenberg’s sandwich and promised the girl behind the counter an extra twenty dollars if she’d run down to their office a few blocks away to deliver it. The girl had eyed him warily for a second before shrugging in agreement. As he watched the girl trot away, bag in hand, Stiles typed a message for Greenberg and waited.  
  


Leaning back against his chair, Stiles picked up his sandwich and began to eat. He took his sweet time, savoring every bite as he watched the people around him. He was relieved when Greenberg sent him a message saying she’d gotten her sandwich and finished the rest of his meal in peace.  
  


But all good things do eventually come to an end. Soon enough, Stiles was walking back to the office, but in a far better mood than earlier. He was absentmindedly twirling his car keys around his fingers when he heard his phone blaring _Sexy Back_.  
  


_‘Who the hell?_ ’ Stiles wondered, pulling the device out of his pocket. Last he checked, he hadn’t used that song as _anyone’s_ custom ringtone.  
  


Greenberg’s picture on the screen, however, answered his question for him. ‘ _Figures.’_ Stiles rolled his eyes. Just for that, he was going to change her ringtone to a gobbling turkey for a whole month.  
  


“Stiles?” Greenberg asked in a rush the second he hit ‘Accept Call’, papers rustling in the background. “I can’t find the notes you made for the King wedding.”  
  


Stiles bit down on the tip of this tongue, checking the street before stepping off the sidewalk. He was still twirling his keys when he asked, “Did you check with Kira? I think I gave her the file yesterday.”  
  


He was almost to the other side of the road when his keys somehow slipped out of his grasp. “Crap!” Stiles cursed, darting forward when he realized where the glinting metal was heading. It felt like watching a scene in slow motion. His keys, Mets keychain and all, flew through the air in a lazy arc, straight into the grate.  
  


He could hear Greenberg’s tinny voice asking him what was wrong, which reminded him to tell the woman, “Hold on. My keys fell down the grate. I need to get ‘em back.” His shoes skidded slightly on the road as he came to a halt in front of the metal bars. To his dismay, the keys were _not_ dangling precariously on the bars, meaning they had fallen _in_.  
  


“Great.” Stiles sighed in exasperation, switching his phone to the other ear before telling Greenberg, “Listen, I’m gonna call you back later. I should be back in the office in like, ten? Fifteen? I dunno. Then we can talk about whatever you want.”  
  


“Does that include a pay raise?” Greenberg quipped.  
  


Stiles rolled his eyes and ended the call. As he tucked the phone away, the man crouched down next to the grate and squinted through the bars. Where were the... ah. There they were! And lucky for him, they appeared to be within reach, stuck in the middle of some dark slime. All he’d have to do was lie down on the road, reach through the sticky looking bars (thank God the space between the bars was enough to squeeze his arm through), and stretch his hand so that he could to reach the keys.  
  


It _would_ look pretty weird for a well dressed man to lie down on the road without any warning. Not to mention it was pretty dangerous too. What if he got run over or something? He looked around him, glancing over at the dark haired man talking on his cell phone as he unlocked his car and at the old lady squinting up at the sky before making his decision.  
  


To hell with it. Like he cared what a bunch of strangers thought about him if they saw him lying on the side of the road with his hand down the storm drain. These were his _keys_ they were talking about. They had the keys to his office, his apartment, Scott’s apartment, Lydia’s home, dad’s home, and one golden key he’d forgotten about. Stiles was sure it opened something important. He just couldn’t remember what.  
  


He rolled up his sleeves and got down on the road, wincing at the sensation of hot, sharp gravel digging into his front. It felt like someone was pressing hot coals against his skin. _‘I wonder if you can get burns from hot gravel,’_ Stiles mused, taking care to prevent his face from touching the hot road, eyeing his keys while gingerly slipping his fingers through the grate. _‘Could this Monday get any crappier?’_  
  


It took a lot of wiggling, twice as much stretching and a lot of _very_ creative cursing before he managed to catch his keys between two fingers. “Please don’t fall, please don’t fall, please don’t fall,” Stiles chanted under his breath, carefully pulling his hand up. He pulled several faces at the dried piece of gum sticking to the concrete at how _slimey_ his keys felt. First thing Stiles was going to do once he returned to the office would be to make Greenberg find him a bottle of bleach and a large bowl to wash his keys and a gallon of hand sanitizer for himself.  
  


Stiles carefully managed to curl his fingers around the keys, forming a fist right as he heard a loud crash and clatter. Pushing himself up to an elbow, Stiles squinted down the road, wondering what the noise was. His eyes widened in horror when he saw the large dumpster rolling in his direction.  
  


“Shit!” Stiles yelped, yanking his hand up as he hopped up into a crouching position. His fist, however, crashed into the grate instead of sliding out smoothly. With a pained cry, Stiles found himself kneeling above the metal bars, trying to pull his throbbing fist out while staring at the dumpster quickly rolling his way.  
  


He ignored the stinging sensation around his knuckles, desperate to free his hand as visions of turning into a pancake courtesy of a full dumpster ran through his head. The ominous rattling sound growing louder and louder made Stiles jerk his hand harder, desperate to free himself from the grate. Through some odd twist of fate or luck, he managed to free his limb, keys and all.  
  


Stiles sighed in relief, only to yell in shock when a heavy, warm body tackled him to the sidewalk.  
  


For one split second, his world turned upside down--the ground was blue and the sky overcast--and then something hit the back of his head hard enough to make him see stars behind his eyes.  
  


When the hard knock was followed by a loud crash, Stiles muzzily asked the lamp post over head, “Was that the Big Bang happenin’?”  
  


Who the hell had crashed into him? A quarterback? Didn’t football season end in May? He wasn’t even on the field. Whoa. Stiles blinked as the person lying on top of him pulled away far enough for him to get a good look at his savior. And he was _really_ good looking. No, seriously. This guy? Hands down the _hottest_ dude Stiles had ever laid eyes on. His eyes _alone_...  
  


“Are you okay?” his savior asked, magical green-hazel eyes moving over Stiles’ face. Probably to check for injuries, but Stiles hoped it was more of an attraction thing. Himself, Stiles was more preoccupied with the sharp dip his prince’s eyebrows made in concern.  
  


He wanted to reach up and smooth the worried frown away. The frown was handsome, but Stiles worried about the wrinkles they would cause on his prince’s princely forehead. His fingers twitched against the sidewalk, ready to carry through with the silly command. The tiny movement was enough to make the sharp grooves of his keys press into the soft flesh of his palm.  
  


Stiles stared up at the stranger, wondering if he should attribute the dryness in his mouth all to this handsome guy or to the near death experience he’d just had. And all because his keys had fallen into the gutter.  
  


“My keys?” Stiles asked breathlessly, deciding he was going to blame his low voice on the guy’s eyes. They were the actual definition of breath taking. Or it could just be the fact there was two hundred odd pounds of hot dude lying on top of him. The romantic in him opted for explanation one.  
  


Those pale eyes widened, thick black brows rising in confusion. “Keys?”  
  


Stiles tried to nod, wincing when the pain throbbing at the back of his cranium prevented him from doing so. “Yeah. They fell into the gutter and I was trying to get them before you...”  
  


The stranger immediately pushed himself up, off of Stiles’ body. Stiles suddenly felt bereft, hating the cool air brushing against the back of his neck and chest. He wanted to reach out and drag the man back down, wanting just another few seconds where he could _relish_ the full body contact he had so carelessly overlooked.  
  


Stiles tried to raise himself up as well, but the stranger immediately stopped him with one hot palm gently pushing Stiles’ back down. _‘It’s better than nothing,’_ Stiles thought dizzily. Wow. He felt _incredibly_ dizzy right now, actually. How hard had he hit his head, anyway?  
  


He stared wide eyed at the stranger, blinking slowly when the guy said, “You’ve got your keys in your hand. Did you hit your head when you fell?”  
  


“Technically you tackled me,” Stiles pointed out, because dizzy or not, he was still a tiny bit of an asshole. He’d been told it was one of his more charming qualities. “So _you_ made me hit my head.”  
  


The look he got was an odd mix of sheepish and annoyed. It was kind of cute, actually. And by kind of cute, Stiles meant he wanted to lean up and kiss the man till his designer stubble left Stiles’ mouth red and tingling with stubble burn.  
  


“Only because you kept standing there waiting for a moving dumpster to run you over instead of getting out of its way like a sane person,” the man retorted, careful fingers sweeping over Stiles’ neck before sliding into his hair. Obviously to check for any wounds.  
  


“That sounds like victim blaming to me. Besides,” Stiles couldn’t help but weakly jangle his keys in an obvious response, hissing loudly when the gentle fingertips found the giant, throbbing goose egg at the back of his head. “Ow!” he whined, trying to move away from the prodding fingers. That hurt! _And_ it was making him feel even more dizzy. “Stop poking that! And I couldn’t just leave my keys lying in the gutter!”  
  


The stranger frowned, but thankfully pulled away, quietly asking, “Do you feel dizzy? Any lightheadedness?”  
  


Was the guy ignoring him and his shiny keys? Way rude. Two could play at that game as well. “What the hell happened, anyway?”  
  


Pale eyes rolled toward the sky with a very impressive amount of judgement. Stiles was envious. His eyebrows weren’t half as expressive or capable of demonstrating so much irritation.  
  


“Cab driver took a turn into the alley over there and somehow clipped a dumpster loose. It started rolling toward you, and you refused to move. I didn’t want to see you die, so I tackled you.”  
  


“Thanks for that, Hercules,” Stiles snarked, bringing his elbows up before gingerly beginning to put his weight on them. He couldn’t stand lying down on the sidewalk anymore. A familiar snapping noise made him reconsider the whole getting up business. _‘Is someone taking pictures of this?’_ Stiles wanted to lie down, melt, sink through the cracks, and hide in the center of the Earth. Knowing his luck, the pictures would go viral, or at least make it to the town gossip and spread like mad. Then his family would find out, and then he’d be subjected to a whole day of mother hen-ing from the trio, plus Lydia. It would _not_ be fun.  
  


“Hercules?” the stranger asked in confusion.  
  


Stiles frowned tiredly at the guy, hoping his eyebrows were being even half as judgy as the stranger’s. “‘Cause you saved me and are a big hero and have rippling pectorals?”  
  


“Of course.”  
  


Wow. That was _the most_ judgemental tone of voice Stiles had ever been on the receiving end of. And he knew Lydia Martin, who was often the person he went too with his crazy ideas.  
  


“Rude,” Stiles huffed even as he accepted the other man’s helping hand, pushing himself into a seated position far too quickly. The dizzy feeling returned with a vengeance, causing Stiles’ world to tilt dangerously.  
  


Almost immediately the other man pressed against his side, one arm tight around Stiles’ shoulders. “Easy. I think you might have a concussion.”  
  


Stiles squinted up at the man, wondering if he was a doctor or something similar. “You saved my keys.” The non sequitur statement made the stranger’s eyebrows rise in surprise as Stiles frown. “My life. You saved my life from the run away dumpster of doom.”  
  


“You _definitely_ have a concussion,” the stranger said, slowly helping Stiles up on his feet. “You’re not making sense.”  
  


Heh, that was something a lot of people had said to him over the years. Maybe he could tell the maybe-doctor that. And maybe Stiles would tell him that his feet were _not_ feeling cooperative. Neither were his knees and legs, actually. Apparently his entire lower body had gone on strike, protesting how nice this handsome stranger smelled and given up as a result.  
  


Stiles had to lean heavily on the stranger, his cheek pressing into the man’s stubble. It was the irritating kind of scratchy, making Stiles frown and mumble, “Y’ smell nice. Like fresh bread an’ jam on legs. ’S really irresistible. But y’ feel like sandpaper.”    
  


The last thing Stiles remembered before his vision went black, was the astounded look on the stranger’s face, and how it reminded Stiles of a startled husky.  
  


__  
  


When he started to come to, Stiles realized someone was talking. Loudly. He frowned, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from, frowning harder when he realizes the speaker’s voice was pretty high pitched. And why are they talking about someone dying?  
  


He only properly woke up when he felt small, clammy hands pull his eyes open and someone flashed a light into his eyes  
  


“Hey!” Stiles tried to protest weakly, raising a hand to flap at whomever was trying to blind him. Whomever turned out to be three kids sitting on his bed--a girl and two boys, one with blue eyes and the other with brown.  
  


Blue Eyed Boy peered at him from behind the penlight, expression grave as possible for a child. “He’s not dead,” he told his companions.  
  


“Does that mean he’s not goin’ ta heaven?” Brown Eyed Boy asked asked, voice high.  
  


Jeez, how did _blinking_ feel like such a chore? Even Stiles’ lashes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. And his eyes felt gummy too. What the hell had happened to him?  
  


The girl pouted. “We can’t do an autopsy if he’s alive.”  
  


Okay then. Stiles carefully turned his head to the left, looking away from Blue Eyed Boy, staring instead at the dark skinned girl who was poking Brown Eyed Boy, “Better get the doctor to come an ‘ look at him, Adil.”  
  


Doctor? Was he in a hospital? And what was up with the kids? What was going on?  
  


“Kay, Sonia.” The boy obediently jumped down the bed and trotted out the room, hollering, “Doctor Hale! He’s awake!”  
  


Stiles cringed at the yell, wondering how much lung capacity a boy that young could have. Also, how hard had he knocked his head? His brain felt like jello. Jello that was really sensitive to light and loud noises. He whimpered in pain, raising his hand up to touch his head.  
  


Halfway through the short journey, his fingers touched something strapped around his neck. Stiles frowned, wondering aloud, “Am I wearing a collar?”  
  


Blue Eyed Boy nodded. “Doctor Hale said you hit your head really hard, so you hafta wear the collar ‘till your pictures come back.”  
  


Pictures? He must’ve meant x-rays and scans. Had he been hurt _that_ bad? Stiles hadn’t thought it was possible to get more than a few bumps and bruises after being tackled to the sidewalk by a handsome stranger. Stiles felt a pang of regret at that. He hadn’t even asked the man’s name before passing out. Shame really. Stiles would have liked to thank the good Samaritan at least. And maybe ask him out on a date if he was into guys. A man could dream.  
  


A sharp rapping sound pulled him out of his thoughts, his eyes shifting over to the doorway. Where the handsome stranger was standing. Stiles gawked at the man, wheezing when Sonia clambered over him (and in the process kneed him in the gut) while getting off the bed, happily yelling, “Doctor Hale!” with Blue Eyed Boy.  
  


Stiles winced as he rubbed his belly, frowning at the doctor who was currently crouched down at the kids’ level, intently listening to the kids babbling at him. Sonia was rambling on about Stiles’ condition, frequently interrupted by Adil, who was hanging onto the doctor’s coat corner. Every time she frowned at the interruption, Blue Eyed Boy piped in with a comment of his own.  
  


“And thats when I asked Adil to go get you,” the girl finished, waving her pen light in a tiny flourish.  
  


Hale nodded solemnly, patting the girl on the head before turning to Adil. “What do you think we should do next. Adil?”  
  


Dark eyes squinted hard in Stiles’ direction. “We should get him some chocolate milk an’ chips?”  
  


The doctor nodded quickly while gently herding the trio out the door as he said, “Why don’t you go ask Nurse Sheppard about that and I’ll see how Mr. Stilinski is doing. Okay?”  
  


Stiles winced at the happy, _loud_ yell the kids let out as they ran out. Did they _have_ to do that? There _had_ to be some kind of rule stopping kids from yelling in the middle of a hospital.  
  


Speaking of which, actually.  
  


“Where am I?” Stiles asked, making a face when he heard how hoarse he sounded. He sounded like he had a bull frog in his throat. And that was _highly_ unattractive.  
  


The doctor walked over to his bedside, pouring out a glass of water before handing the cup over to Stiles. “You’re in Beacon Hills Memorial. My name is Derek Hale, I’m the head of the pediatrics department. How are you feeling?”  
  


Derek. That was a nice name. And it suited the man too. He looked like a Derek. Stiles shook his head quickly, pushing the thoughts away before taking a much needed sip of water. He must have hit his head harder than he’d thought. “I’m feeling like I nearly got run over by a runaway dumpster,” Stiles joked weakly. “Thanks for saving me, by the way.”  
  


Derek shot him a stern look that had Stiles retreating behind his plastic glass. “About that. Do you mind explaining what the hell you were doing back there? Why were you lying on the road with your hand in the gutter?”  
  


Even though he had a perfectly legitimate excuse, Stiles still felt incredibly self conscious when he muttered, “Technically, I was on the _side_ of the road. And I’d dropped my keys there. I was just trying to get them back.”  
  


“You realize you skinned your knuckles trying to do that? _And_ sprained your wrist.”  
  


Derek’s dry observation made Stiles give his bandaged hand a contemplative look. “That would explain a lot,” Stiles retorted, before tapping the collar around his neck. “What’s the story behind this? Did I hurt my neck or something? How do you know my name? And what’s a children’s doctor doing checking up on me?”  
  


“We’re short staffed today. And I checked your wallet for identification when I brought you in.” Derek picked up a familiar, beat up looking wallet from the side table before holding it out for Stiles to take. “Out of curiosity, how do you pronounce your first name?”  
  


Stiles pressed his lips together, hoping he wasn’t blushing when he muttered, “You don’t want to know.” He accepted his wallet, trying not to let anything show on his face when their fingers brushed together.  
  


“It’s actually your name then?” Derek ask, sticking his hands into his pockets. “It doesn’t even have any vowels in it.”  
  


Generally when people said that, and it had happened a fair few times, Stiles tended to get annoyed. It was his _name_. Of course he was going to get defensive about it. But the genuine curiosity in Derek’s voice and eyes made Stiles go for the gentler answer instead of the usual snap. “Nope. That’s my name. My mom wanted to name her after her Polish grandfather. Trouble is not a lot of people can pronounce it right, including me.” He shrugged helplessly, tapping the wallet against his thigh.  
  


He held his breath when Derek smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that had Stiles internally groaning in agony. This man was far too attractive for his own good. Add in being a pediatrician with a good Samaritan streak...  
  


“Should I call you Stilinski then? Or do you have an easier alternative?” Derek asked in a tone that had Stiles’ brain tripping over its own feet, because it sounded pretty flirty to him. _Holy moly._ Was the handsome doctor _flirting_ with him?  
  


Stiles had a hard time keeping his voice steady when he replied, “Stiles. Just call me Stiles.”  
  


“Stiles?” Derek asked, like he was checking the feel of the name on his tongue. Guuh, Stiles could spend _hours_ listening to Derek say his name over and over again. In different tones too, if Stiles had his way. Sexier tones. Right against his ear as they were f-  
  


“Alright then, Stiles. The collar was just a precaution and it’s possible you might have a stiff neck the next couple of days. Everything looks fine, but we’re waiting for some results to come back. If they’re clean, you can leave.”  
  


The urge to cook up a new malady just so that he could spend more time with Derek was high. _Insanely_ high. Stiles even had a few ideas on the tip of his tongue, including a few _terribly_ cheesy pickup lines which he hoped would at least get a laugh out of Derek, and thereby win him brownie points (and Derek’s heart). He was confident the ‘why don’t you use your stethoscope to listen to your heart and go out with me’ line would go down _amazingly_.  
  


He was ready to get his flirt on when he heard a familiar voice yelling in the corridor.  
  


“Oh _no_.” Stiles groaned, slapping a hand over his eyes when he heard Greenberg demanding to be led to wherever her boss was being kept. “This is not my life,” Stiles muttered, ignoring the confused eyebrow Derek quirked at him.  
  


Clearly Derek was going to ask him to explain himself, except Greenberg’s yelling grew louder and louder until the woman stood in the doorway exclaiming, “Oh thank _God_ , you’re alive!” and threw herself on Stiles in relief, Derek stepping back just in time. He let out a pained grunt at the sudden hug, barely getting the chance to pat her back before she was pulling back to sharply slap Stiles’ arm.  
  


“Ow!” Stiles yelped, moving as far away as he could on the tiny bed as he covered the throbbing spot on his bicep. “That hurt!”  
  


Greenberg ignored him, pointing a finger at Stiles with a hard, angry look. “Don’t you _ever_ do that again! Do you have any idea how worried we were when we heard you’d been taken to the hospital? And who the hell passes out after almost being run over by a _dumpster_?”  
  


Stiles’ mouth flapped a few times in an amazing mimicry of a startled goldfish before he managed to find his words. “You say that like I went _looking_ for a runaway dumpster!”  
  


“You’re _you_! For all I know, you might have,” she snapped back.  
  


Stiles gaped at Greenberg for a solid ten seconds before asking, “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”  
  


Greenberg rolled her eyes, looking ready to give a scathing reply when Derek interrupted, “Should I step out while you two... talk this over?”  
  


As one, the pair looked at Derek, then at each other before turning back to Derek with matching puzzled looks. “Why?” they asked in unison. Stiles mentally noted they had even gotten the confused tone down pat. Clearly they’d been spending too much time togethe.  
  


Derek pointed between them. “You’re not a couple?”  
  


Stiles barked a quick laugh that made his ribs hurt while Greenberg chortled, “Hell, no! He’s my boss! _And_ he’s not my type.”  
  


“Wow,” Stiles intoned dryly. “Thanks for that honesty, Des. Just for that, you’re on weekends for the next two months.”  
  


He stared at the dark haired woman laughing, waiting for her to realized he was _not_ joking. It only took a few seconds for her laugh to die an awkward death before she said, “Wait. You’re not kidding.”  
  


“Nope.” Stiles emphasized the P with a small pop, smirking at the horrified look that spread over his assistant’s face. He totally was, but he wanted to make her sweat for a while. But the crack about the dumpster was totally going to mean _at least_ three weekends in the office.  
  


He shot Derek a weary look saying, ‘You see what I have to deal with.’ Stiles felt like swooning when the hot doctor smiled amusedly in return. “If you two are done,” Derek began, gesturing at Stiles’ neck, “I’ll take that off for you now.”  
  


Greenberg immediately took a step back and Stiles tried to remember how to breathe. One breath in, one breath out--nice and steady. The urge to fidget nervously rose when Derek’s careful fingers curled around the back of his neck, and there really was no helping the hitch in his breath when rough fingertips brushed under his jaw. It was a sensitive spot.  
  


Derek’s eyes sharpened with consideration at the quiet noise, his fingertips hovering over Stiles’ pulsing jugular. “Did that hurt?”  
  


He had to actually bite down on his tongue to stop himself from dropping the oldest pick up line known to man. He didn’t think Derek would find being compared to a fallen angel amusing or flattering. Instead, Stiles shook his head meekly. “Just, uh. Got a cramp in my hand.” He wiggled his unbandaged hand at Derek.  
  


As Derek’s attention shifted to his hand, Stiles noted the way Greenberg was staring at him. Her eyes narrowed contemplatively, like she was staring at a sudoku puzzle. Stiles could almost see the gears turning around in her head, going click-click-click as they fell into place and prompted the light bulb to turn on.  
  


The second he saw her realize his attraction towards Derek, Stiles shot her a warning glare. If Derek had not been examining his hand, Stiles would have made frantic ‘cut it out’ gestures at the woman.  
  


Greenberg ignored him and all his glares, smoothly sliding up next to Derek before clearing her throat. “So. The nurse who called me said that I have you to thank for rescuing my clumsy boss.”  
  


“You’re so not getting a Christmas bonus this year,” Stiles muttered under his breath.  
  


Attention split between Stiles’ hand and Greenberg, Derek missed Stiles’ comment entirely. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” Derek answered distractedly, looking at Stiles as he pressed his thumb against the meat of his palm. “Does it hurt here?”  
  


Stiles shook his head, trying not to melt at the hand massage. Too bad his other hand was bandaged. “That’s incredible lucky. I wonder how we can thank you for your help...”  
  


What was she doing? Stiles squinted at his PA’s obviously fake tone. What the hell was she planning _now_. It was _obvious_ Greenberg was planning something...  
  


“I know!” His suspicious feeling turned into one of dread at _that_ tone. That fake cheerful tone coupled with the bright smile she gave Derek almost made Stiles scramble out of the bed. “How about we treat you to dinner and a movie? Tonight! Once you’re done with your shift.”  
  


That was way too obvious. At this rate, she might as well draw a giant sign saying “Stiles likes you and I’m gonna bail on this ‘treat’ ten minutes in by using a very shitty excuse even a six-year-old can see through,” slap glitter on it, and hold it up a foot away from Derek’s face!  
  


Amazingly, Derek didn’t seem to notice. He frowned at Greenberg, looking between her and Stiles in clear indecision. “I couldn’t...”  
  


“Sure, you can!” Greenberg chirped, lightly elbowing the taller man in the arm. “Just tell us when you get off, and we’ll be there to pick you up. How do you feel about old movies from the 60’s? There’s this little place on Brandon Street that’s a bookshop by day, but mini-movie theater after six. And it’s right next door to this great little Chinese place that has _the best_ honey chicken-wings you’ve _ever_ had.”  
  


He wasn’t going to accept Greenberg’s offer. There was no _way_ Derek was going accept.  
  


“I wouldn’t want to put you out.”  
  


Stiles gawked at Derek, wondering when the Earth started to spin in the opposite direction and why he hadn’t gotten the memo?  
  


“Not at all!” Greenberg chirped, smiling like a shark who’d smelled blood.  
  


Waving his hand, which nearly clipped Derek in the nose, Stiles laughed weakly. “But we wouldn’t want to put _you_ out either! I mean, you must be really busy, right? Probably on call tonight?”  
  


Derek blinked serenely, rolling the collar up before putting it next to the jug of water. “No, I’m off duty tonight.”  
  


“Perfect!” Greenberg grabbed Stiles’ by the arm and sunk her nails in. Stiles winced, one eye twitching hard in pain as she continued, “What time should we come pick you up? Or you could come meet us at the restaurant?”  
  


Stiles wondered when his life had turned into a rom-com? And again, why hadn’t he gotten that particular update?  
  


__  
  


“Stop messing with your hair,” Greenberg hissed at him, punctuating her point by lightly kicking at Stiles’ legs. He was glad they were standing side by side, or else he was certain her boot heels would have hurt a hell of lot more when they would have sunk into his foot. Not that they didn’t hurt enough when the side of her heel connected with his calf.  
  


Stiles hopped away from her, spluttering, “This constitutes as harassment you know! I could have you fired for this! Also! Injured individual here!” Stiles waved his bandaged arm at her.  
  


The woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. “ _Please_. Like you could find someone as good as me to be your PA. You should be thanking me instead of threatening to fire me. I landed you a date with the hot doctor, after all.” She closed the distance between them, hand reaching out to stroke Stiles’ hair back into some semblance of order. “You need to stop running your hands through your hair. You look like you got electrocuted or something.”  
  


“It’s a nervous habit,” Stiles argued defensively, allowing the grooming for a moment before her hands began to tug his shirt out of his pants. “And _no_! This is _not_ a date! He isn’t even into me!”  
  


The ‘bitch please’ look she shot him was impressive. “He is _very_ much into you. I can tell. If you give him the chance, he’d be in you literally before the night’s done.”  
  


“Because you come equipped with some kind of romance radar?” Stiles asked sarcastically, looking toward the ‘concession’ stand (which was really just a movable popcorn machine manned by a preppy fifteen-year-old boy) where Derek was buying popcorn for them.  
  


He shouldn’t have, but he did hesitantly wind up asking, “But, what makes you think Derek’ attracted to me?”  
  


The evil smirk Greenberg shot his way made Stiles immediately regret his question. “Actually,” she dragged the word out like the evil person she was, “it was the way he kept looking at you during our meal. He was _really_ into everything you were saying. Even that whole speech you gave about how the French Revolution was instrumental in the birth of french fries.”  
  


“Well, they were--”  
  


Greenberg ignored him. “The point is, Stiles, you haven’t been on a date since the whole Jeff debacle. It’s been two years. You need to get back out there, start dating, and move on!”  
  


With a wounded look at his PA-slash-friend, Stiles said, “You say that like I’ve been a shut in the whole time. I’ve been on dates since...you-know-who. Lots of dates!”  
  


“I wasn’t aware you dated Voldemort. And six dates in two years do not a romantic life make,” Greenberg snarked, tone dry as a desert.  
  


Stiles’ face darkened immediately, matching the tone of his muttered, “He was as bad as Voldie-butt. And since when have you been keeping track of how many people I date?”  
  


Rolling her eyes, Greenberg nudged Stiles to stop him from scowling before shooting a pointed look at Derek. “The point stands. You like him, he likes you. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that right now.”  
  


After a long beat of staring at the woman’s earnest face, Stiles slowly turned to observe Derek accept his change before picking up their order. Did Derek really like him? Was Greenberg right about that? _‘If he didn’t like you, then he wouldn’t have come to dinner, right?’_ Stiles reasoned with himself, relaxing slightly at the small smile Derek shot him.  
  


Derek held a drinks tray with two bags of popcorn balanced against them in one hand, and a bag of candy in the other hand. As a result, his gait was slow and careful, eyes focused on his hands. Oh, and to Stiles’ delight, Derek had put glasses on. Something about needing special glasses to watch movies on the big screen. When Derek had pulled the frames out and put them on his nose, Stiles had to bite down on his tongue to keep the aroused whimper at bay. He may have failed given the ‘are you kidding me right now?’ look Greenberg had shot at him behind Derek’s back.  
  


“You’ll do fine,” Greenberg said quietly, pulling Stiles out of the daydream. “It’s just the first date. Not like you’re asking him to marry you or anything.”  
  


And Stiles was now _firmly_ back in reality. “It’s _not_ a date!” he hissed, eyes darting between Derek’s approaching form and Greenberg’s smug face. Hopefully Derek hadn’t heard her say that.  
  


“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Tell me, do you usually chug that denial cocktail down or sip it?” Greenberg replied easily, beaming at Derek as he approached.  
  


Even though Derek shot them a curious look, clearly wondering why Stiles was trying to glare a hole in Greenberg’s head, he was good enough not to say a word. “Your soda,” he said, turning the tray toward Greenberg so that she could grab her drink as he held his second hand up, “and your candy.”  
  


Greenberg tore into the bag immediately, pulling out a handful of gummy bears before popping them into her mouth. Stiles hoped they were all sour and cut her tongue to annoy her for days to come. He had to school his expression into a more placid smile when Derek offered him his popcorn and soda.  
  


“Thanks,” Stiles smiled warmly at Derek, unable to help himself. There was something about Derek and his smile that made Stiles’ lips turn up all on their own. Stiles idly wondered if that was some kind of superpower. Also, wasn’t it dangerous for one man to hold that much power over others?  
  


He took a large sip from his cup, glad he’d remembered to accept it with his unhurt hand, cringing at the loud slurp that followed. Why the hell couldn’t he be _not_ -awkward for once on a date with an attractive person? Stiles hid his wince under the guise of swallowing the liquid down, nearly choking when Greenberg _obviously_ made a loud ‘bloop’ noise.  
  


“My phone,” Greenberg explained blithely, pulling the device out of her pocket like she hadn’t faked the noise in the first place. It was official. Greenberg was the worst person he knew and she was totally going to need a new job within two weeks. “Oh no! An emergency came up with a friend and I have to bail!”  
  


Then again, she _had_ pulled off this whole _not_ -a-date-date with Derek and was now faking an emergency to leave them alone...  
  


While Stiles contemplatively wondered if this was good or bad, Derek worriedly asked, “Is everything okay?”  
  


With a casual wave of the hand, Greenberg dismissed the doctor’s question. “Oh yeah. I mean, not really, because it’s an emergency. But I’ll handle it. It’s just....my brother’s friends’ cousin having some...car trouble and it’s just two blocks away, so.” She held her hand out toward Stiles, impatiently wiggling her fingers while declaring, “Keys.”  
  


Stiles stared at the woman long and hard before sighing loudly. He bent down to put his drink on the floor before fishing his keys out of his pockets. “If you hurt my baby...” Stiles warned.  
  


“Yeah, yeah. You’ll hang me upside down and use me for fish bait or some other creative threat you think is actually gonna work.” Greenberg had the audacity to roll her eyes before cheerfully bidding them adieu.  
  


He watched the woman walk away, muttering, “Fired. Yeah. I’m totally gonna fire her for that.”  
  


This time, Derek heard him and snorted in amusement. “Is she always like that?”  
  


“Pretty much.” Stiles smiled wryly at the other man. Oh hey, they were almost the same height. How had Stiles not noticed that before? That was nice. He liked guys who were at least as tall as him. In fact, if Stiles had to guess, Derek’s height was the optimum height where all Stiles had to do to steal a kiss would be to turn his face up and lean i-  
  


“Excuse me?”  
  


Stiles just about jumped out of his skin in surprised guilt and yelped, “I didn’t do anything!” Unfortunately, his yell was accompanied by a hard flail which made a good part of his popcorn fly out of its bag. Several fluffy pieces of popped corn flew high up before landing on the head of  the confounded looking teenager blinking at him. And the popcorn Stiles had spilled all over the floor. Dammit. That was embarrassing.  
  


“Uh.” The teenager glanced down at the popcorn, looked back up and carefully took a step away from Stiles. “The movie is about to start. Just thought you should know that.”  
  


Yep. Embarrassing with a capital ‘E’. He hated himself and his brain that so loved cooking up daydreams. Was there some way he could control his spastic actions that tended to crop up with alarming frequency around people he was attracted too? There _was_ a direct correlation present between him acting like he was sixteen again and how attracted he was toward his date. Stiles even had the excel sheet and calculations to back that up.  
  


The quiet chuckle he heard Derek stifle made Stiles want to crawl under the nearest seat and die. Of _course_ Derek would find his antics funny. His mood began to sour almost immediately. But it was saved when the other man said, “The look on that kid’s face. I don’t think he’s ever had popcorn thrown at him.”  
  


Was he...did Derek just say that to lessen the blow to Stiles’ ego? If so, he needed to stop before Stiles was actually picking out a wedding ring, their first house, and baby names.  
  


“I didn’t _throw_ it at him.” Stiles moaned pitifully, wondering if he could drown himself in a large helping of Pepsi. “It was just an unfortunate situation and physics and shit.”  
  


Derek’s quiet chuckle was just the confidence boost that Stiles’ needed. It prompted him to share a couple of more stories with Derek, all of them revolving around popcorn. And to his delight, Derek had a few to share in return. The one where he and his sister tried to make caramel popcorn at home, but wound up with a gunk of half popped corn and caramel sauce at the bottom of the pot had Stiles in stitches.  
  


By the time they got to the small ‘hall’ where the movie was set up, Stiles had managed to get his giggles under control. The room was big enough to seat 20 people. At present, five couples sat in the low-lit room, heads bowed in hushed conversations as the usher announced, “Movie starts in a couple of minutes. If everyone will take their seats, please. And remember to keep your cell phones on silent.”  
  


The usher went on to explain the rest of the rules (thereby proving he had to be new because none of Finstock’s employees recited the rules before the movie started), his voice warm and husky, like melted dark chocolate fudge caramel...or something. He might be craving some sweets. Good thing he’d gotten the sweet popcorn.  
  


Stiles stuck his hand into the bag of toffee popcorn, stuffing his mouth full before plopping down next to Derek. It was only after he had sat down did Stiles realize they were kind of far away from the other couples. Which was not something he wanted to think about right now. Thinking about having some relative privacy made Stiles start imagining things they could do together.  
  


So instead he turned to Derek, ready to ask if he’d seen any good foreign movies. But the sight of Derek tearing open his bag of M&M’s and plucking out only the brown candies had Stiles asking, “You know M&M’s aren’t like Skittles,right? So there’s no point in eating them by color?”  
  


The annoyed look Derek gave him for that sarcastic remark only made Stiles’ shit eating grin grow. “I know that.”  
  


“Then why are you only picking out the brown ones?” Stiles asked, watching Derek transfer the brightly colored chocolates back into the small packet before handing them over.  
  


Derek began to transfer the candies into his mouth, one piece at a time. It was an oddly delicate act in motion, watching Derek eat the M&M’s like that. “I only eat the brown ones.”  
  


There was a ‘duh’ lurking in the edge of Derek’s tone. That coupled with the odd reply made Stiles ask, “ _Why_? Do the other colors offend you?”  
  


With an amused huff, Derek answered, “No. That’s stupid. I just think the brown M&M’s have the least amount of food coloring in them. ”  
  


It took him a second to understand the logic behind that before a bark of laughter fell out of his mouth. “Wow!” Stiles teased. “That’s an incredibly scientific approach to chocolates, Doctor Hale.”  
  


Derek mimed throwing one of the chocolates at Stiles, grin widening when Stiles pretended to duck and hide behind his drink. It was nice and easy. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun with someone he barely knew.  
  


An excited thrill went down his back, prompting him to sit up straighter once the projector flickered to life and the lights were switched off. When Derek tilted his head toward him, Stiles automatically tilted his head back in response. A complete mistake, Stiles realized the second Derek’s hot breath brushed over his hot ear. “What’s the movie about?”  
  


Stiles’ brain stuttered over the answer, which travelled down to his tongue. “G-greenberg said it was some French arthouse film? I think it’s about food.”  
  


The contemplative hum Derek responded with--which Stiles felt thanks to the way Derek’s shoulder was pressing against his own--coupled with the casual way he dropped his arm on the back of Stiles’ chair, cause Stiles to melt in his seat. Okay, so Derek was a lot more forward than some of his previous first dates, but...this felt nice. Clearly, Derek was into him. _And_ confident enough in his own sexuality to do some PDA, even if it was in a dark room. Nuances, but Stiles was willing to work with that.  
  


It took everything Stiles had to not slide down enough in his seat to use Derek’s forearm as a head rest. He was calculating the proper speed at which to slide down, munching on his sweet snack, when the universe decided to remind him that his PA was _evil_. That or the universe itself had it out for Stiles. Could even be both. Had to be both.  
  


The movie, which Stiles had so innocently thought was going to be a French art film about food (something like Chocolate, Stiles had assumed), was _not_ a simple movie about food. It was far worse.  
  


Horror and utter mortification were the reasons why Stiles slid down in his seat, hiding his face behind his small popcorn bag while Derek hesitantly asked, “Is this what I think it is?”  
  


He was going to kill Greenberg. This suddenly explained the smirk she’d had on her face when she’d told them the name of the movie they were going to watch. “I don’t want to answer that,” Stiles whispered back.  
  


It took him a good twenty minutes to screw enough courage up to look up from his popcorn, and even _that_ was because he’d finished his bag _,_ face burning hot thanks to the sounds pouring out of the speakers. _‘This explains the ‘Adults Only’ sign...’_ Stiles wanted to hit himself on the head for missing _that_ very important clue. With one last deep breath, he slowly turned his gaze up at the screen.  
  


And double taked.  
  


“Isn’t that _asking_ for a yeast infection?” he hissed at Derek. “You’re a doctor. Tell me I’m wrong! Strawberries and whipped cream don’t belong anywhere _near_ there!”  
  


Stiles shot Derek a quick alarmed look, horror mingling with amusement and delight when he saw his not-date smiling broadly and shaking with suppressed mirth. It encouraged Stiles to keep up a steady stream of alarmed (but curious) commentary as the film, which was a soft porno disguised as an art film, progressed. And every shudder of Derek’s body against his own, only made Stiles unwittingly lean in closer and closer with every hushed comment.  
  


It was only when Derek shakily defended the film, “But it _is_ pretty artistic,” did Stiles realize, because he turned his face to scoff at Derek, how close they actually were.  
  


Pretty darn close.  
  


Like, he could count Derek’s eyelashes, which were very thick and black. Stiles wondered if they brushed against his glasses every time Derek blinked. They certainly looked long enough for it. A sweeping desire to touch the eye lashes and judge their softness swept through Stiles, making him swallow loudly.  
  


The sound was loud enough to capture Derek’s attention. Stiles felt his breath hitch in his throat when the bright scene allowed him to see the color filling Derek’s cheeks. His heart pounded inside his chest, smacking against his ribs so hard it _hurt_. Nervous fingers clutched the seat arms, holding on for dear life while his tongue slipped out to quickly wet his dry lips.  
  


Any doubts he had been harboring about Derek being attracted to him went out the window the second he saw pale green eyes dart down to stare at his mouth. The time it took for Derek’s eyes to rise up and meet his own felt like an eternity. Stiles _saw_ Derek’s pupils dilate, black taking over the green-hazel until it was but a thin ring of color.  
  


Stiles couldn’t hear the movie over the sound of his frantic heartbeat. He was acutely aware of the organ pumping away in his chest, of the curl of heat that started in his chest and spread all the way down to his toes. Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about the way he was forcing his breathing to remain steady, hoping it would make him feel less breathless and dizzy. His awareness sparked, like a circuit abruptly broken, when he realized he was leaning in. Stiles’ mouth parted on its own, lips tingling in anticipation of the kiss that would land any second now and probably taste like chocola-  
  


Someone flashed an incredibly bright light right at his face, making him start back hard enough to make his chair screech in protest. Derek similarly jolted back, much to the amusement of...  
  


“Danny,” Stiles sighed, trying to smile when all he wanted to do was to yell at his friend for being a complete cockblock. “What the hell are you doing here?”  
  


Stiles hoped he didn’t sound like he wanted to punch Danny in the face, but he honestly wouldn’t have minded that either. Danny’s smile went shark-like as his gaze ticked between Derek and Stiles, lowering his phone as he turned the flash off. “ _I_ was trying to watch a movie with my boyfriend, but _someone_ wouldn’t shut up with the MST3K style running commentary.”  
  


“I think I was doing more of a Lord of the Rings cast commentary style commentary than MST3K,” Stiles retorted, glaring into the dark when someone loudly shushed him.  
  


He was about to shoot a rude retort back when Derek suddenly stood up with a quiet, “I have to go,” and made a beeline towards the exit.  
  


“Derek?” Stiles asked in alarm, scrambling up to his feet as well. Someone shushed him again, but Stiles paid them no mind, scrambling to catch up to a pale faced Derek. He bumped his shins into several chairs on his way out, prompting him to pause every time and hiss curses at whomever had put the chairs too close together.  
  


It was with bruised shins and an equally bruised ego that Stiles exited the theater. Right as Derek was walking back in.  
  


They crashed into each other, yelping (Stiles) and grunting (Derek) in surprise before blinking in surprise at their suddenly full arms. Stiles curled his fingers into Derek’s stupidly soft leather jacket (honestly, what kind of a pediatrician wore a leather jacket over his button down anyways?), wanting to keep Derek flush against him. He wanted to stay chest to chest with Derek, feeling every exhale press against his own hands and ribs.  
  


It felt like the hardest thing in the world to let go of the other man and take a step back. Cool air wrapped around him immediately, causing the twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach to solidify into something heavy and miserable. “I’m sorry,” Stiles began lowly when he realized Derek was not going to say anything. “I shouldn’t have...I thought that you were...” He’d lost count of how many people had told him he talked too much. And now? In the moment when he needed words to explain himself and to apologize to Derek? Stiles found himself bereft.  
  


Sighing, Stiles ran a clammy hand through his hair while staring down at the ground. “I’m sorry for trying to kiss you.”  
  


_‘There_ , _see,’_ his brain tried to soothe him, _‘that wasn’t so bad now was it?’_  
  


No. It was worse. Stiles had totally read all of Derek’s signals wrong and made a _complete_ fool of himself. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget today had ever happened.  
  


Stiles rubbed the back of his neck before sighing. “I’ll just get out of your way.”  
  


He took a step back, turning away right as Derek asked, “What did you mean. Before?”  
  


“Before?” Stiles asked once he was facing Derek again.  
  


“You said you thought I was...what?”  
  


Oh. _That_. Stiles grimaced and looked over Derek’s shoulder, feeling cowardly as anything at his inability to meet the other man’s eyes. “I thought you were either gay or bi. Or just. I thought you were into me. Romantically.”  
  


The feeling that swept over him? Hot and shameful with a hefty dose of guilt on the side? It was the crappiest feeling in the world. And sadly, Stiles was a little too familiar with it once it came to his love life.  
  


“I am actually.” Hope flooded Stiles in a rush so sudden and fast he felt dizzy. “Bi, I mean.”  
  


“And the other thing?” Stiles couldn’t stop himself from asking, realizing he was setting himself to be hurt a second after the question was in the air between them.  
  


The pained but gentle smile Derek gave him was answer enough.  
  


Gathering up the broken pieces of his ego, Stiles straightened his shoulders before forcing himself to let out a shaky laugh. “Well. This is embarrassing.”  
  


Story of his life, really.  
  


   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to yell at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://candypinkcocks.tumblr.com).


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